"Madame, Mr. Boyce is not dead. He lies wounded. I make no apology, pardieu! It is imperative to frighten the Waverton out of the country—since he would not stand up to be killed. You, madame," he turned frowning upon Alison, "you must have him no more in your neighbourhood."
Alison bent her head. Mr. Hadley came forward. "Captain McBean, you take too much upon yourself."
"I'll answer for it at my leisure, sir."
"Pray go, Charles," Alison said gently. So they went out, Mrs. Weston upon Susan's arm, and Captain McBean and Alison were left alone, the fierce little lean man stretching every inch of him against her rich beauty.
"You do me some wrong, sir," Alison said.
"Is it possible?" McBean's chest swelled to the sneer.
"Pray, sir, don't scold. It passes me by. Nay, I cannot answer you. I have no defence, I believe. Be sure that you can say nothing to make my hurt worse."
"How long shall we go on talking about you, madame?"
Alison flushed dark, and turned away and muttered something.
"What now?" McBean said. In another moment he saw that she was crying.
Some satisfaction perhaps, no pity, softened his stare….